


As a Matter of Fact

by k45tl3



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Drug Addiction, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Road Trips, Side Story, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k45tl3/pseuds/k45tl3
Summary: The little ins and outs of the RED Sniper's relationship with the BLU Spy (there are roadtrips.)A side story to"Can't Wait to See Him Tomorrow," focused on the RED Sniper's relationship with the BLU Spy. The plot coincides with that of "Can't Wait to See Him Tomorrow," with many of the same events recalled more from the Sniper's point of view, but can be easily followed without having had read the other story.





	1. Le Poussin

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this side story! I am planning to develop it as far as "Can't Wait to See You Tomorrow" does. This is one of my favourite ships, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to write this after what happens in the chicken coop from Pyro's POV. Of course, you don't need to read that one to understand this and vice versa, but I explain things about the other in either fic. I apologise for any errors in any French the Spy speaks, and for the awkward spacing, I'm still learning. Either way, I hope you enjoy, comments/feedback welcomed and appreciated.

The Sniper woke up cold that morning. The nights were slowly getting cooler. He shivered. He’d just started seeing the BLU Spy a month ago, and before that he was almost sure he’d never be in love in his life, but now the pain of simply not having the Spy next to him even if he knew he’d see him in a few hours was worse than every barely existent tinge of loneliness in the hours, the days, the weeks, _the months_ he’d gone without seeing another human being even from a distance during all the time he’d spent alone with nature. He could still hardly deal with the presence of another person outside of his Spy for extended periods of time without becoming utterly drained from human contact; he was an extreme introvert. Nevertheless, he had to find a way to make the Spy more open to sleeping in his van with him, and more importantly staying till when the sun started to rise, especially now when the cold settled in his bones, no matter how many furs and quilts he had in the loft of his beloved camper. He’d only slept with the Spy what, three, four times? And the other man had stayed none.  


He hoped he wasn’t too needy. The two men were both private, and they knew boundaries, they knew that just because one wasn’t constantly crawling all over the other that they were still as much in love as anyone, or even more so. It was just that it was _so bloody cold_ and he loved the Spy _so bloody much_ that he thought it was only reasonable that he wished that he’d stay awhile, at least sometimes.  


He pulled himself up out of bed, and hopped the length down to the floor of his van. He pulled on a pair of trousers and scrambled to button his shirt up and pull his vest on before he could get any colder after climbing out from under the layers of warmth he had accumulated over the years. It would do him good, perhaps, to sleep with clothes on, or at least some clothes, but pajamas were so bloody uncomfortable, and he didn’t believe in boxers, so he figured he’d just get some of those terrible wool blankets they kept in the base later. He opened one of the crates he held under the small bench at the table and pulled out a jacket. It was cold enough for that now. He got a jar from one of the shelves above the cab and opened the top, stepping out for a moment so to not be so base as to relieve himself in the van, and secured the lid again before returning inside. Finally, he found his favourite #1 Sniper mug – the closest to approval for his career of choice he’d gotten from his parents – and headed out. He had a lighter and a pack of his Camels stowed in the mug, and he lit one as he made the short walk to one of the back base entrances to kitchen. He had a coffee machine in his van, but only decaf coffee, so he had to go to the base to make himself the caffeinated variety as opposed to his more commonly consumed decaf in the morning. He figured that he’d stay with his team for breakfast as well, since he was feeling unusually hungry at this hour, possibly because of the cooler weather.  


He entered to find the Pyro and the Engineer having a conversation over tea while waiting for the rest of the team. The Engineer did not have his goggles on, and the Sniper noticed how invested the Texan was in his conversation with the Pyro. It was as if he was trying to read the Pyro’s face, even though he couldn’t see it. His thoughts were diverted when the RED Spy came up behind him, the smoke from his Davidoff mixing with the Australian’s own.  


“Zhe Engineer and zhe Pyro? Interesting, yes, but not unexpected.”  


“Hullo, Red.” The Sniper and the RED Spy already established that Spy would informally be addressed as ‘Red’ by the Sniper, since ‘Spook’ was reserved as a pet name to irritate his lover. The RED Spy knew about the relationship between the Aussie and his own BLU counterpart. He didn’t mind; and he didn’t mind keeping it a secret. The Sniper and the Spy were friends, and Spy respected his BLU counterpart. “You already putting money down on these two?”  


“No man gets a look in his eye like zat when conversing unless he is in love, and zhe Pyro has been visiting Engineer more often zhan before. If it is not already a fact zhen it is soon to be.”  


“Fair enough, you know all this stuff better than I do.” Their conversation ended with that as the remainder of the team began to file into the room. Heavy and Medic came in, Heavy’s booming laughter illuminating the room despite the apparent bags under his eyes, the Medic sharing a similar trait. They were probably up working; Medic on his usual crazy yet genius scientific researches, or perhaps just on paperwork, and Heavy might’ve spent the night tinkering with his guns or reading one of the old tomes he had gathered in the Teufort base library along with the other mercs interested in any sort of book-keeping. Maybe he spent the night just trying to keep the Medic company, just out of worry. Either way, they were evidently tired.  


Demoman stumbled in next, looking inches away from death, with Soldier right behind him. “Don’t mind him,” the Soldier _didn’t_ scream. “He has been up all night with me and Private Scout. And Pyro. And Lieutenant Bites. And the cock roaches–”  


Finally Scout came in, another piece of evidence to support Soldier’s claim. He looked even closer to death than the Scotsman.  


“Looks like it’ll be pancakes today.” Engie looked exhausted as he sighed.  


The Sniper now knew for sure that he’d stay; nobody could miss Engie’s famous flapjacks. He watched the Scout throw himself onto the chair at his usual spot and cast a particularly doleful look at nobody in particular, just before the Engineer set a rather large cup of tea before the boy.  


“Gotta get re-hydrated, son.”  


“Ahhhh I don’t wanna drink any of your piss tea, Engie.”  


“Ye’ve got tae drink it, lad. Here.” Demo scooted closer to the Scout to try to pour some of his liquor into the mug without anyone noticing. He didn’t succeed and tried to excuse his actions by shooting the 'it's the only thing that will work' at the disapproving looks of the Medic and the Engineer.  


“Hey, why don’t any of you other drunken oafs have dome-splitting headaches!?” The Scout looked around at the others that Soldier had mentioned. “Yeah, what about you, Pyro?”  


Pyro just laughed.  


“Whatcha laughin’ about, ya’ crazy fuckin’ arsonist?” The Scout was getting angry. “I know y’all had at least as much as me, pretty sure Scotty here had more than the other three of us combined!”  


Pyro still laughed. The Sniper couldn’t help but laugh too, and he saw and amused expression on the Spy’s face as well. As a matter of fact, the whole team was laughing.  


How about,” the Scout wanted no more of this. “How about all of you SHUT THE FUCK UP!”  


It was the Sniper’s cue to leave. The Spy glanced in his direction and nodded, and the Sniper nodded in return as he silently shut the screen door behind him. In the RED base, if you turned out of the kitchen door facing South and walked through the narrow passage through a few utilitarian shacks and sheds, you’d get to the chicken coop passing on your right. Sniper was the one who usually tended to the animals, along with Engie, Medic, and Pyro, but he probably spent the most time in the birds’ enclosure.  
When he got there, his favourite chicken Alice was sleeping, so he picked up Lorraine instead, and sat down with her in his lap, stroking her feathers. He wanted another smoke but he figured that he shouldn’t around the chickens and settled on slowly nursing his coffee, thinking. The Australian sighed. He wondered when he’d see his Spy. He should call his mother.  


He can’t tell her about the fact that his first – and as far as he is concerned; only – love is a Frenchman half a foot shorter than he is who routinely stabs his lover’s back for a living and calls him a filthy jar man, and that children aren’t a possibility, but _‘hey, on the bright side I’m usually on top.’_ Yeah, his mum would faint, and his father would probably fly all the way from Australia to kill his son for the homosexual, sociopathic, good-for-nothing atrocity that he is, and then kill him again upon finding that he respawned. It saddened him that he couldn’t tell his parents about the thing that made his damned bloody near-perfect life that couldn’t realistically get any better, _better_ , but he supposed that that was the thing that was stopping it from being perfect in the first place.  


He breathed in heavily. It was almost like he could smell the Spy in the chicken cage with him. The Sniper damn near screamed when he felt the weight on the board he was sitting on shift. Then he heard uncloak.  


“Bloody Spook!” He pretended to be angry, but he couldn’t be. Not when he needed the Spy around like this.  
The Spy looked genuinely regretful at his choice of sneaking up on the Sniper. “Désolé, mon cher… Are you alright? You look unhappy.”  


“No, I’m glad to see you. It’s getting cold. Are you cold?”  


“Oui, a bit. But I am fine, and glad to see you as well.” The Spy looked oddly boyish as he looked down at his feet. “We should do something zhis weekend. Drive off somewhere, we have three days. You and I.” He looked almost as antsy and nervous as the Sniper always was, which was unlike him, but endearing nonetheless.  


“You shouldn’t smoke around the chickens.”  


“Is that a yes or a no?”  


The Sniper grabbed the black Sobranie out of the Spy’s hands and stubbed it out after taking a long drag. “Of course.” He tried to hide how much he had wanted to see the Spy, despite having had seen him two days ago. He also started ahead of them. “How do ya say chick in French?”  


“Le poussin.”  


“I’m not even going to try to say that.”  


“Good. I must go, cher, one of your teammates is coming. I will see you tonight, and perhaps we shall figure out what we’ll be doing zhis weekend.” The Spy leaned in to give the sharpshooter a kiss before he hopped off the board. “Adieu.” And he was gone.  
The Sniper had realised that Lorraine had left his lap, so he picked up Dixie, who was walking by. The Pyro came in a few seconds later.  


“BLU’s ‘borrowed’ some eggs again,” he said to the other man, internally sighing with relief. The Pyro knew about the Sniper’s relationship with the Spy as well, it wouldn’t have been a big deal if Spy hadn’t gotten out in time.  
The Pyro looked a bit…crestfallen?  


“Don’t worry, there’s enough for breakfast.” He didn’t take his eyes off the chicken in his lap as he searched for words to make things less awkward, however awkward things may be with the Pyro. “Wot’d we do without Truckie? He really keeps this team together, don’t he, mate?”  


“Mph, hmph hud hm hm?” Pyro nodded, turned around, and left with fourteen eggs. They sure did eat a lot. Fuck it. He lit a cigarette and stood up as he headed back toward the kitchen.


	2. Mon Loup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sluggish battle in "Can't Wait to See Him Tomorrow" from Sniper's point of view. Sniper is nervous around Spy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter isn't too cliché as far as Sniper/Spy fics go, but I suppose clichés are all based off of _something_ and one of the main reasons I even started to write was to give the characters a more in-depth portrayal as opposed to shy Sniper/asshole Spy or horny cruel Sniper/submissive incompetent Spy and the dozens of other typical Sniper/Spies out there, and I like sticking to what seems close to the canon nature of each character. Anyhow, please excuse my ranting and raving and cheesy use of French, I hope you like this chapter. Comments/feedback are welcomed and encouraged,  <3

“Bloody hell,” the Sniper muttered to himself as the doors to respawn opened and flooded the room with sunlight.  


“Take care of yourself out there, Sniper,” their Spy said around a cigarette he was lighting, half sarcastically and half sincerely. “Today’s battle isn’t going to be very...exciting,” the Spy hesitated with his words, not being able to find the proper word to describe what was about to transpire. It didn’t matter, Sniper knew what he meant; sometimes battle just felt meaningless to every single man playing, there was no fun in small victories; the headshots and clean backstabs didn’t satisfy as much as they usually did, and they were particularly rare on days like these. It wasn’t exactly laziness, it just seemed as if nobody’s heart was in it and they didn’t fight to win or lose but simply because they had nothing else to do. You could tell by the way everyone looked that it was going to be one of those days.  


He blew out a cloud of smoke that flew up into the rays of sunshine in the resupply. “There is no point in you wasting your energy and sanity on futile efforts. It is not being ‘unprofessional’ if your intent is guided. Don’t worry yourself too much.”  


All the Sniper could do was nod. He had no idea where Spy’s little speech was coming from, but he didn’t detect any malice from it, so he decided not to read into it too much. The Spy probably best knew about the Sniper’s anxieties and worries, even more than the BLU Spy did. The Sniper hadn’t told the BLU Spy much about himself at all, really. A lot, but that was just a small fragment of what Sniper hid behind the scope of his rifle, behind his tinted aviators, behind the shadow that his hat cast. He wanted to tell the Spy everything, but he couldn’t even muster an “I love you,” and the Sniper did know for sure that the only thing he could call what he felt for this man was love. He could only hope that the Frenchman actually felt the same and was not just using him as a plaything, but he figured he would find out eventually.  


The siren was still blaring in his ears until he was a good ten metres away from their base and on the way to one of the higher nests this battlefield had to offer. He decided to heed Red’s advice and not worry too much about accomplishing anything, but he still positioned himself to make a few shots, just in case BLU was feeling better than they were. 

*

An hour or two of the two teams’ unspoken truce had passed, and Sniper had killed everyone on the other team at least once, save for their Spy, who he had only seen once at the beginning of the battle attempting to sap the RED Engineer’s buildings while he was distracted with the Pyro, who was quick to finish the snake. It was easy when everyone’s movements were sluggish, but there was no kick out of seeing the Sniper’s legendary “fine red mist” today. He decided to take a break (or perhaps call it a day, knowing how the hours would drag on), and lifted an empty jar off of a crate to do his business. He had just unscrewed the top and was about to open his fly when he heard: “Mon dieu! You are going to have to stop that atrocious habit of yours lest I stop seeing you!”  


It was of course nothing but an empty threat, both of them knew that the Sniper wouldn’t stop and that the Spy didn’t care _that_ much as long as the jarate wasn’t being thrown upon him, but Sniper still felt a bit ashamed.  


“I was going to surprise you, but no, I simply could not stand by and watch you piss in one of those jars of yours–”  


Sniper had approached him and put his hands on either side of the shorter man’s waist. It was perhaps the first time he had actually made a first move in the course of their relationship, but he wanted to skip the Spy’s routine rambling and just get to the actually _being together_. It wasn’t often the Sniper could spend time with his lover for periods of time longer than five to ten minutes outside of sexual encounters, so he wanted to make the most of the opportunity he had now to just talk and kiss and talk some more. He leaned down and lingered there in front of the Spy for a second before touching his lips to the edge of the Spy’s so softly for a moment, and lifted one of his hands to hold the Spy’s face, and then moved back to look at him and the somewhat surprised expression on his face at the Snipers unexpected advance.

“Hullo Spoi. Would you shut up about my jarate today?” 

This earned him a smile from the Spy, who decided to embrace the Sniper and pull him down onto a blanket bunched up on some crates by the wall that the sharpshooter had put there a week before upon realising the cool desert days were upon them. 

“Of course, mon amour,” he replied, many seconds later. 

The Sniper hardly remembered what the Spy was talking about, even though hardly any time had passed. He was busy trying to make the Spy’s touch on his body feel real, because he could hardly believe that someone like this would _choose_ to be this close to him, would _choose_ to lay his head upon him, would _choose_ – 

“Are you alright? You seem off today.” 

“Yes Spy, I’m perfect.” He’d been waiting for this. “It’s just cold, is all.” 

“You seem to be particularly bothered by this.” 

“I hate it when it gets cold. It doesn’t feel right to me. I like it better when it’s too hot. The heat doesn’t make me shiver, and it doesn’t make me feel like death in the mornings.” It was an awful long statement on the Sniper’s part, and there was more he wanted to say, but he decided that he didn’t want to burden the Spy with such a request yet. 

“I could come and stay in zhat van of yours on the colder nights, mon loup.” 

“Would ya?” 

“Absolutely. Not too often, as someone might become suspicious, but I can come sleep with you, maybe it will be a little warmer, and maybe, perhaps you could sleep better,” the Spy let his thumb brush over the dark spot under the Sniper’s eye. “I don’t like seeing you like zhis, it is like you are ill.” The Spy grimaced for a split second, then sunk down a bit, resting on the Sniper's chest and breathing in slowly. 

The Sniper’s heart was beating rather rapidly. It annoyed him, he felt like that shouldn’t happen in a calm moment like this, but it wouldn’t cease. The Spy _cared_ about him, if he’d go through the trouble of keeping him warm at night, even if it meant sneaking through the cold nights and mornings as to remain inconspicuous, he had to. He wondered if the Spy could feel his heart beating. _Was_ he ill? Was he _mentally_ ill? Was there something wrong with him? He was damn near being a nervous wreck. It was all just shaking and heart palpitations and stomach aches, but it was there, and it made him wonder. 

No. Wondering was what got him to that state in the first place. He glanced down to see the Frenchman’s eyelashes resting on his cheeks as his eyes were gently closed. “Spoi?” 

“Mhmm…” 

“Oi, I-a, I think I love ya.”


	3. Je T'aime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheesy. Sniper is nervous, but things turn out better than he could have wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how atrociously cheesy this is, but it couldn't be avoided, especially not with me. I think this fic will end up longer than I anticipated, but we shall see. Please leave comments, I appreciate them a lot, and I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> P.S. Sorry, again, for the bad French.

The Spy was no longer resting his head on the Sniper’s chest. He look up suddenly, surprised.  


“What?”  


“You know exactly what I said, you frog.” The Sniper did not look the Spy in the eye, and he pulled his hat down to hide his eyes in the dark tint of his aviators along with the shadow of the hat so the Spy couldn’t see that he was staring at the floor. He knew that the Frenchman knew anyway, and his suspicions were confirmed when he felt his hat being yanked off, followed by his glasses. He shut his eyes quickly.  


“Mundy.”  


It was the first time that the Spy had used the Sniper’s real name. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, as if that would help him at all.  


“ _Mon dieu_. Open your eyes, you silly bushman.”  


The Sniper relaxed his eyes a bit, but didn’t open. He then heard a rustling sound and he felt the muscles in his back tense and his eyes shut tighter again. He was going to get stabbed, wasn’t he? He waited a few seconds and only felt the soft touch of a hand on his face. He noticed that it wasn’t gloved.  


“Come on, open your eyes.”  


“What’re you going to do, Spook?”  


“I will kill you if you don’t open your eyes.”  


“No…”  


“Open your eyes, please. I won’t hurt you if you do, you know that.”  


He hesitated a second before he obliged, but he had to blink right away after he did, because there was the Spy, _his_ Spy, without a mask on. The Sniper hadn’t even dared try to ask the other to remove it previously, and in that moment he regretted not having seen this earlier. The Spy was worn; that was one thing you could say about his face. That the Spy was so devastatingly good looking was another thing. You could see the same sharp contours you did with the balaclava on, but so much more clearly. There were tan lines around his eyes and mouth, as expected, his gaze was somewhat tired, and you could tell that he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, but that didn’t bother the Sniper at all. He had his hair pushed back, but a few locks fell unto his forehead with the mask off, and here was quite a bit of grey at the temples and in streaks through the front. He was probably usually a bit sweaty under there, but with the cold temperature today, his hair was dry. His eyebrows were a bit furrowed because of the Sniper’s stubbornness, but his eyes had a sort of tenderness in them.  


His eyes. You could always see them, but it was a completely different story in the context of the rest of the Frenchman’s face. Their blue grey hue was just incredible in that moment, especially with the dull light that seeped through the overcast sky, and Sniper wasn’t nervous anymore. He touched his hands to the Spy’s face and felt like it was his last chance to study a map before a journey, until the Spy took his wrists and pulled his hands down.  


“You can close your eyes now.”  


The Sniper didn’t want to stop studying his lover’s face, but he happily shut his eyes. He felt a tingling sensation with the Spy’s warm breath hovering in front of him. He could tell the Spy’s eyes were still open, so he smiled and brought his hand back up to the Spy’s head and pulled him in.  


Their kisses were soft and gentle when they weren’t fighting or up to something a bit more unchaste. They paused every few seconds, and the Sniper ran his fingers through the Spy’s hair. It was so soft, he had never even thought about it before. He also smelled really nice. Sight wasn’t even that important right now when he could feel the Spy’s hair and face and hands and smell his cologne and cigarettes and just _him_ and taste him and hear his breathing and the occasional words in between their kisses.  


And then he heard: “Je t’aime, Sniper.” He didn’t know a lot of French, but last he checked, “Je t’aime” meant “I love you.” Before he had a chance to react, Spy was kissing him again.  


“Mon dieu, je suis tellement en amour avec vous…”* He was barely whispering now.  


This he didn’t understand. He leaned away for a second. “Spook, what does that mean?”  


“What does what mean?” He went in to kiss the Sniper some more.  


“What you just said.”  


“I didn’t say anything, cher.”  


Sniper couldn’t help but smile with the Spy’s lips against his. He was as shy about it as he was. That didn’t answer his question, but he decided not to think about it. He had his Spy that he loved, and his Spy said he loved him too, and that was enough for him.

 

*

Sniper sat at the edge of the dining room table toward the door that led to the chicken coop and eventually his van. It was easy to leave the room if things became a bit much for him to handle if he sat there, but for now things were just fine. He sat there sipping on some beer with most of his team, exceptions being Pyro, who was probably in the shower, and Spy, who had flown out to see BLU Scout’s mother.  


Demoman was cooking dinner while occasionally refilling his drink, and the kitchen smelled wonderfully of roasting meat. Besides Demo, Medic was a little tipsy, as was Scout, and the other mercs were well on their way. The evening was perfect, but Sniper had something else to look forward to. He and Spy had decided that they wouldn’t be going anywhere specific, just driving to wherever they ended up. The Spy would come to his van early the next morning and they would go wherever fate pleased to take them. It was the way Sniper lived when he wasn’t working, and he was glad to be able to do one of his favourite things with his favourite person. The sunsets were particularly nice this time of year, and it wasn’t sweltering hot, so sitting in a car for extended periods of time was not a problem. It would be just the two of them, and nothing could’ve mattered to him more than that. He must’ve had a particularly pleased look on his face, because soon the Heavy approached him:  


“Sniper is happy? Is good, Sniper is rarely happy.”  


“Yeah, yeah, I’m doing good today, Heavy.” Sniper knew that Heavy wasn’t stupid; on the contrary, he was glad the man didn’t speak English well because his intelligence would probably fill the Sniper with feelings of inadequacy.  


“Will Sniper tell why?”  


“Maybe another time.”  


“Alright.” Heavy smiled with a puzzled look on his face and turned back around to his drunk Doktor, who had begun rambling about some crazy experiment he’d done trying to give a man gills.  


“It worked,” he said. “Or at least it probably did. They euthanised the man before I had a chance to test it. He was only writing a _little_.” The Medic’s countenance changed a bit when he had gotten to the next part of his tale; “I was prohibited from ever using that university’s resources again.” His jovial spirit was gone, and he just looked bitter now. He reached for one of Demo’s bottles of god-knows-what, but a large hand stopped him.  


“Come Doktor,” Heavy said. “You look ill.” He then turned to the rest of the team: “We be back in minute. Doktor isn’t feeling well.”  


Although the Medic didn’t look that great at that moment, Sniper had his suspicions that that wasn’t why the pair decided to leave, but he figured that it wasn’t any of his business. He turned his attention, instead, to the Engineer, who was leaning up against the counter, deep in contemplation. He wondered what types of things the Engineer usually thought about. He couldn’t possibly always be thinking about machines. There was more to the man than just brains; that was a fact. Maybe Spy was right that morning, maybe there’s something going on in between him and Pyro, perhaps that was what he was thinking about.  


Either way, the thoughts soon left the marksman, because Demo was now bringing an array of pots and plates and pans and bottles to the table. They were all very hungry, and the food looked and smelled very good. Heavy and Medic returned (more quickly than to confirm any of Sniper’s suspicions), and Pyro trudged in with a triumphant exclamation coming from under his mask. The only thing that could make the night better is the Spy. Shame he wasn’t coming by until next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - was trying to say "God, I am so in love with you."


	4. Mon Amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Sniper's van, more Spy's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to be a bit longer than Can't Wait to See Him Tomorrow. I hope you don't mind that I'm straying a bit from my original intentions. This is a fairly short chapter, but I hope ya like it. Leave feedback and comments please, and enjoy!

“ _Merde_ ,” The Spy cursed as he left his base. He said he would be at the Sniper’s van the next morning, but he decided to surprise him and come in that night, and was now regretting his decision. It was _cold_. He supposed he’d have to get used to it since he was going to be coming to the van in the middle of the night more often now, but _God_. This was the _desert_ , it’s supposed to be _hot_. He now understood why the Sniper was complaining about it so much, at least. He just wasn’t so sure now that he was ready to suffer for the cause.

He looked up at the sky, especially vast here in the desert of New Mexico, the stars clearer than anywhere else the Spy had seen them. He exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke and it mixed with his breath hanging in the air above him. He remembered about what Sniper had told him about the sky in Australia; how incredible it was. It was nice here, but not as nice. Spy remembered the stars in France. He should tell the Sniper about them on their little trip. Sniper will argue that there is hardly a place better to see stars than the Outback, and it surely wasn't _France_ , and Spy will argue, and they will be angry, but it won't matter that night.

Spy finally approached the van, and was disappointed – although hardly surprised – to see that the light was on inside. He had wanted to sneak in without a sound and creep into bed and just fall asleep, maybe without even waking up the Sniper, but alas, he was awake and surprising him would be significantly more difficult. He turned the doorknob and found the Sniper standing by the tiny table that decorated the van, totally naked, turning his rifle over in his hand. 

“What are you doing, Bushman?” Spy asked. 

The sharpshooter didn’t look up. “I’m the one who should be asking that,” he then looked over and the Spy. “Couldn’t sleep.” He had goosebumps up his limbs, the hair covering his body on end. After a moment of silence: “Whatcha here for? Werentcha gonna come by tomorrow?”

“Do you want me to leave?” 

“No, but don’t just stand there.”

Spy took to placing his small briefcase on the floor, removing his jacket and hanging it from a hook on one of the walls of the camper, proceeding to do the same with his tie, and finally taking off his shoes, putting them down neatly next to the Sniper’s boots, which were significantly larger to correspond with the height difference between them. He sat down on the bench by the table and looked up at the Australian, who was still examining his weapon. He was about to try to say something, perhaps to comment on his nudity, but Sniper turned to look at him and said:

“Guess we should get to sleep then, if we wanna leave early.”

“Yes, yes…” Spy looked at the Sniper who hung his rifle by the strap and looked back at him.

“Well…” he said as he glanced up from the Spy to the bed, the former of the two rather uneasily climbing up the ladder of the bed, moving to the far side awaiting the Sniper.

“You don’t have to be loike that about it.”

“Like _what_?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“No, bushman, I am afraid I do not.” He did. He knew the Sniper felt uneasy about him being uneasy, which made the whole situation uneasy. That was just the nature of their relationship, however. It was uneasy and awkward and messy, but that was unavoidable. He waited for the Sniper to turn off the light and situate himself in the cramped space, then rolled over to face the Sniper, who also turned onto his side to look the Spy.

“Are you gonna take it off? Nobody we know is gonna see us for a couple of days anyway.”

“Well if I take it off too much, you won’t appreciate it anymore, Bushman.”

“First off, I won’t even see you. It’s bloody dark. Second off, Spook, there isn’t anyway I could stop appreciating your face, as long as–” he didn’t finish his sentence. 

“As long as what?” 

Sniper pretended not to hear and ran his fingers under the hem of the balaclava before pulling it off and feeling across the Spy’s jaw. He leaned over to kiss him, but the Spy was already up to meet him. He was about to move up and try to straddle the Sniper, but the Sniper pushed him off firmly. 

“No, sleep.” 

The Spy huffed a bit, but he did agree with him. It was time to sleep. They could do all of _that_ later, all they wanted. 

* 

Spy woke up without the Sniper next to him. He wondered how the hell Sniper managed to get out of bed without waking him up since he was a very light sleeper, but he figured that the sharpshooter was the next best out of all the mercenaries as far as stealth was concerned. 

He sat up and peered over the edge of the bed and saw the camper door open. He climbed out of the bed and found his Sniper sitting on a crate outside with a cigarette lazily hanging out of his mouth as he gazed somewhere into the horizon. 

“Bonjour, mon amour.” 

“Holy dooley, Spook. How many times have I got to tell you not to do that?” 

“Whatever do you mean, cher?” He took the cigarette out from between the Sniper’s lips and into his own. 

“Oi, don’t play dumb, ya wanker. Anyway, you might want to go take a piss or something before we leave, ya know? Coz you like your toilets, yeah?” 

“No, _you_ like your jars, disgusting jarman.”

“Wotch it. Ten minutes, okay?” 

Spy stood up after casting the Sniper a look, but just as he turned the Sniper took his hand and pulled him back to place a chaste kiss on his lips. 

“Piss off now.” 

* 

The Sniper smiled to himself as he waited for the Spy to return so they could hit the road. It was hardly light yet, and the only other one awake in both the bases was probably the BLU Sniper. The horizon was all sorts of shades of pink and yellow, and if you looked straight up you could still see some of the stars. He couldn’t wait to just stare up at the sky with his Spy. It would be a long travel with them and their constant bickering, but that was fine with him, as long as it was only them and their constant bickering and no one else. Oh, and sex. A bit of that as well. Maybe sex under the stars. Who knows. They could eat in shitty American diners that neither of them could appreciate and listen to the radio and argue. It was gonna be great.

Soon the Spy swung the passenger door of the van open and and sat down on the stained, saggy seat. He had a sour look on his face, but Sniper knew that it wasn’t anything serious. The Spy pulled the Sniper’s aviators off his nose, and now Sniper had a sour look on his face. Spy's was gone, he had sunglasses now. It was gonna be perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will not have any smut. I will, however, attach links to a separate fic that will consist only of smut corresponding this fic. It will make more sense later.


	5. Bâtard Sale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sniper and the Spy start their road trip, but they don't make it very far on account of an argument about Sniper being gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my longer chapters, I hope you don't mind. There is angst, and then the two are being huge saps. As usual, I apologise for my French and overall crappy writing. Nonetheless, I really hope you like this chapter, please leave comments/feedback and kudos if you liked it. I am hoping to get the next chapter out by Wednesday. Enjoy!

“So yer tellin’ me that you stole this guy’s underpants for _four months_ , and he ended up just not wearing underpants because he was tired of telling yer officer that his kept disappearing?” Sniper was incredulous upon hearing one of the Spy’s war stories. “And he never found out it was you?” 

“He was an imbecile, that’s why I stole them in the first place. I feel you know as well as I do that it is very enjoyable indeed to mess with the...intellectually challenged.” 

“He shouldn’t have worn underwear in the first place. They’re pointless really, just got to be careful not to get yer donger caught in the zipper…” 

“You really are disgusting, you know that?” 

“Ya don’t seem to have a problem with it when my pants are off…” 

“Oh, shut up…” The Spy had put his balaclava back on, much to the Sniper’s dismay, but now he could see a bit of a flush around the exposed parts of the Spy’s face. 

A silence came over the pair, until Sniper decided that he had to stop to do his business. 

“Couldya move over a bit?” Sniper was trying to open the glovebox in front of the Spy, out of which he then produced a jar. 

“ _Merde, vous êtes dégoûtant!_ If you must relieve yourself when you don’t have access to a toilet, you could at least be as civil as to do it on the ground! Why do you find it necessary to store it in a jar, and then throw it at _me_?” 

“Hey, if someone’s on fire…” 

“Use _water!_ It is something you can also _clean_ yourself with. It is a thing that most people any less vile than you make a habit of doing regularly!” 

“You gonna let me take a piss or not?” 

“I would be more than glad to if you weren’t so nasty about it!” 

“If ya think I’m so disgusting, you _frog_ , then why dontcha leave me be!?” 

“Perhaps I shall! I will see you on Tuesday then. I do not suppose you will see me, as you will be dead–” 

“Fuck off, Spook.”

* 

“Why the fuck does he have to care where I _piss_ , for fuck’s sake… It’s not like I’m pissing on _him_ , most of the time at least…” Sniper decided that he would keep going, Spy would probably catch a ride somewhere, or maybe he’ll die of a snake bite and respawn back at base, and then he’d backstab him on Tuesday like he said, and then they would have angry sex on Friday, and it would be awkward for a week until they decided to just forget about it and be all lovey-dovey again until they got into another argument and the cycle would restart. They’d only been together for a month, but they had already unintentionally created a system, and this is the second time they’d be going through it so far. 

It was inevitable, but Sniper couldn’t help but feel more than a bit guilty for just leaving the Spy on his own. He knew that the Spy was more than capable of getting back home, and maybe even causing some trouble just for fun on the way, but it was supposed to be just the two off them for those few days. Just him and his Spook and the stars and the road before them. He had to mess it up, didn’t he? He just wasn’t meant to be in a relationship, not of any kind. Especially since he ended up gay, it was even harder to go steady with anyone, and more difficult still because he appeared straight as a rail or just not interested to most. It’s like the universe didn’t want him around people. If he got any closer to his parents he’d end up estranged from the family, he knows he makes the friendliest person on the team – the Pyro – nervous, and he leaves this bloke he’s sure he’s in love with in the middle of the desert on another cold day. He just didn’t know how to act around anyone. Bad it people, it seemed. The Spy’ll probably leave him soon. _Fuck_.

* 

_“Bâtard sale.”_ Spy was going to walk to the gas station they had passed about twenty minutes before he was left in the endless wastelands of the arid landscape that he had often questioned the value of working in. Why the hell didn’t the Sniper just stop there to pee? _“Mon bâtard sale…”_

He sighed. It was a shame that their little trip had to end on the terms that it did. Sniper was probably going to keep driving down this road, or maybe he would turn somewhere and end up in the middle of nowhere shooting lizards or doing god-knows-what else. How the Spy wished that he could’ve kept his mouth shut at the right time. Now his poor Bushman was probably questioning. Questioning himself, the Spy, their relationship. Or maybe he wasn’t; maybe he was glad that he was rid of the Spy. Maybe he was lying yesterday. He said “I _think_ I love you.” What the hell does that mean? 

Spy shook his head. Wondering about this wasn’t going to get him anywhere right now. He saw the gas station in the distance. He was going to go hitch a ride and he was going to follow that bastard instead of returning to Teufort. Hopefully he could catch him before he went too far or someplace strange where he couldn’t be found. 

When he got to there, he glanced up at the clock on the wall of the station. It was past three in the afternoon. They really had driven for awhile, he hadn’t noticed. Well, there was the fact that he was rather enjoying himself talking about this and that with the Sniper, about how he joined the military at 16 because he had nothing better to do during the War, and Sniper telling him about the time he killed a man who lived down the road because he was beating his dogs to death. That and the lunch they stopped for at the next town after Teufort, in a dive much like the ones in Teufort. The people inside were like the ones in Teufort, and the only things that set the two apart was the fact that there were no Russian giants trying to get drunken black Scots with eye patches out of the bar in this town. The two of them ordered chicken soup, a usually safe option, especially when the weather was getting cooler, and it was surprisingly quite good. The time from their departure at around seven that morning had just passed by so quickly. Now he was without the Sniper, but he’d find him. He wasn’t going to waste this. 

A boy who looked like he was similar to Scout in many boyish ways was inside by the counter, flipping through the pages of an outdated Playboy. 

“Excuse me, do you have a map I could check? I am afraid I have gotten a bit lost.” 

The youth quirked an eyebrow at him before wordlessly sliding a tattered map across the worn counter and returning to his browsing. 

Spy supposed he must be a strange sight here, with his white shirt and tie, and his balaclava, of course, all topped off with the accent and the fact that he had appeared out of nowhere, considering not many had reason to come by here very often. “Merci,” he almost whispered. 

“What brings you out here?” 

Spy glanced up, but the youth was still immersed in the magazine. “Pardon?” 

“What is it that a guy like you is doing out here, 3 o’clock on a Saturday in November? Is this a joke?” 

Spy didn’t know how to answer this sort of question. Part of him didn’t want to entertain this kid’s questions, but the other part was interested in how this would play out. “I work in Teufort.” 

“That doesn’t answer any questions at all.” 

“I am a mercenary.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

Spy then came up with an idea. “I will tell you if you can figure out a way to help me get to,” Spy then glanced on the map to find the a spot the next town away. “To Tackettsville.” 

“I’ll drive ya. It’ll only take a couple of hours if we drive fast enough. No cops out here anyway. Pa won’t care for it, but nobody’s been here all day so might as well get out and do something, and figure out what the hell your business out here is along on the way.” 

“Really?” 

“Do you think I would rather sit around in this stinkin’ gas station any minute longer?” 

“Good point.” 

“Right. Truck’s out back, could you write a note or _something_ since nobody’s gonna be here for awhile? Not like anyone’s gonna come by, but just in case.” 

The boy went out the front door and Spy took to scrawling “Gone fishing” on a piece of paper on the counter. He then stepped out as well and got in next to the boy, who had come around in a worn Chevy pickup. 

“I’m Tom, by the way.” 

“Fabien.” No reason not to tell this kid. He probably wouldn’t ever see him again. 

“So, you’re telling me you came from Teufort,” Tom had turned onto the road. “What could you be doing in Teufort that calls for you to wear a _suit_?” 

“Zhe suit is personal preference. Most of my...colleagues have rather different choices of dress.” 

“Oh, okay. And what did ya say ya did?” He was fiddling with the radio now. 

“I am… a mercenary.” Spy sighed. “Let’s just say that there is a pair of brothers who _should have_ been dead ages ago but weren’t till recently that were constantly arguing. They were far too old and far too rich to settle it by themselves, so they had other men do it for them, but they had another brother who killed the both of them and had the argument end, only to start it again over his company and this mineral that is only found in Australia–” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“It doesn’t really matter. Long story short, I am part of a small war between two teams of nine men. We are paid well to fight in somewhat unconventional manners of combat that we are well skilled in, and we don’t know when it will end, but it is of no matter, because neither side will win anyway, and we don’t really care, not after all this time.” 

“Then why do it?” 

“It pays well. Besides, they won’t take us anywhere else.” 

“You said that the lot of you were really good at whatever you do out there.” 

“Thomas, do you think that I am just a crazy old man wandering the desert?” 

The boy hesitated. “Uh, no. Not really, hadn’t thought about it.” 

“Then believe me when I say that we aren’t men that there is too much use for anywhere else. At least half of us are stark-raving mad, all of us are dangerous at best, and the only other place for us is a secret service of some sort, an insane-asylum, or a prison. We have money here, we are safe from the authorities who may be… curious, to say the least – about our whereabouts and our actions. There is no good reason for us to quit working here.” 

“Okay, okay… But why are you out _here_ specifically? And why are you trying to get to Tackettsville?” 

“Let’s say we’ve got a runaway cowboy that I’m looking for.” 

“Is he one of your buds from work, then?” Tom had a skeptical look on his face, but Spy could tell that he wouldn’t go through the trouble of pressing him any further. 

“You could say that.” He wasn’t about to tell this kid that this runaway cowboy is actually an Australian outdoorsman and sharpshooter who may or may not simultaneously be his lover and enemy. 

“Hm, what other kinds of types do you have out there? Do all of em’ talk funny like you do?” 

“Well, we have a German, a Russian, a Scot…” 

“And you are?” 

Spy quirked an eyebrow at the question. “I am from France.” He thought his accent made it obvious, but a boy out here from the middle of nowhere might not find it so. 

“Hey, so you don’t all wear those striped shirts and berets?” 

“Do all Americans live off of meals of burgers and Cola?” 

Here the boy shrugged and decided to stop asking questions, and the Spy’s thoughts turned to the Sniper again as Thomas tried to catch a better radio signal. He really hoped that the Australian would stop in Tackettsville, it would not be pleasant if he was to be stranded there, especially since most of his things were still in the Sniper’s van. What if he was there but decided not to let him in? No, he’d break in. It would be a better chance anyway. He’d break in, cloaked, and he’d scare the wits out of the man. Maybe he would kiss him while he couldn’t see him, that’d be good. Or he’d put a knife up to his throat, and then kiss him... 

Spy found himself drifting off then. He really hated sleeping where others could see him, that’s why he hadn’t been fond of sleeping even with Sniper, but he was tired. It wouldn’t matter if he closed his eyes for a minute, right? 

* 

“Fabien?” Thomas said after quite a while of silence. 

Spy was startled to wake up in a moving truck, and it took him a minute to figure out where he was before he remembered what had happened earlier that day. “Yes?” It appeared as if the boy didn’t realise he was sleeping. 

“How’d you lose the cowboy you’re looking for?” 

Spy took another moment to gather what Tom was talking about before he answered. “This cowboy, he is like an animal. He is easily startled, and he ran away. I have to find him.” 

“Won’t he come back on his own, if he works with you?” 

The Spy hesitated. “Yes, you could assume he would,” that was what was supposed to happen, right? “But I think it is better to catch him now.” Yes, that was what he the Sniper was like. A half-tamed creature. Shy but ferocious at the same time, sharp teeth but feels so vulnerable nonetheless. A pang of guilt shot through the Spy when he came to realise that maybe he had to be a bit more careful with the Sniper. At the same time, he _wasn’t_ an animal, was he? Their argument was only half his fault. They couldn’t avoid it. Even still, he couldn’t help but feel bad for it. It was time to apologise. 

“We’re almost there, Fabien.” 

Spy could see yet another town like Teufort in the distance growing as they got closer. It was about twenty till six, and it was starting to get dark, as it did in the fall afternoons. He saw more and more similarities between one town and another as they got closer, but this place looked a bit larger than Teufort. They started passing buildings that looked familiar in the way that every town in this part of the country did. When they got to the main street, Tom stopped by the edge of the road. 

“This is as far as I go, then.” 

“Merci beaucop, Thomas. I am sorry that I don’t really have much to give in return or your generous favour.” 

“It’s all good, something to do was nice, and you made your end of the bargain anyway.” 

Spy opened the door of the truck. “Well, maybe I will come by some day and help you with _something_.” 

“Sounds good to me. Good luck finding that cowboy of yours.” 

“Thank you, adieu Thomas.” 

“Goodbye, Fabien.” 

Spy shut the door and watched the youth turn around before setting down Main Street to see if there was any sign of the Sniper. He had seen a hotel closer to the edge of town, if he didn’t find him he could cloak and steal a key and sleep there. 

There weren’t a lot of people out except for some buzzing around the occasional bar entrance. Spy peeked inside a few taverns, but no Sniper. He was beginning to become doubtful of his presence in this town until he turned town Copper Street, where he found a familiar van parked by a dingy looking little inn. 

Relief, excitement, and anxiety all came over him at once. Hopefully the Sniper would be as glad that the Spy found him as the Spy was. There was only one way to find that out. Spy opened the door of The Copper Crown and was greeted with a dim room that smelled of stale beer and sweat. There weren’t many men in there, mostly a few town drunkards, indistinguishable from those which frequented the pubs in Teufort, among which he found the shadow of his Sniper sitting at the bar, hunched over a bottle of some cheap beer. Spy was about to come up behind him before he figured that he’d rather go into the van and wait, so he turned around to do just that.


	6. Je Suis Désolé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy comes back to Sniper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, apparently I was lying when I said that this would be out Wednesday. I am sorry, I had a lot of work to do, but it's here now, and I hope that it's okay! It feels terribly short and awkwardly written, hopefully I will be able to put out something of better quality within the next week, but there is a little surprise today. Either way, I wish you a pleasant read, and feedback is always appreciated!

It didn’t take the Sniper too long to get to Tackettsville after leaving Spy in the middle of nowhere; a couple of hours, at best. He decided not to drive on to the next town. Although he would make it, it still being mid-afternoon, the November sky darkened early and he didn’t feel up to driving there. He didn’t feel up to anything, really, after two hours of brooding in his van, thinking about the Spy. He sort of pushed him away, didn’t he? Ran away and left him in the middle of the desert. It wasn’t like either of the two of them to feel particular remorse for their arguments, it was just the way they functioned together. Even still, Sniper just couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he fucked up in of the pit of his stomach. 

It was in times like these that he truly understood Demoman’s heavy drinking habits. You’re too busy thinking about feeling shit from the alcohol that you forget about everything else that ever went wrong, and that was exactly what he needed right then. 

As he entered the weird little pub on one of the side streets of town, he sighed as the smell of despair hit him. Years of alcohol, blood, sweat, and tears were in that place, and men who looked like they had been sitting there their whole lives were slumped around some tables as old as the building itself. Sniper figured that he hardly looked out of place here as he came up to the bar. The bartender was a pretty young girl with dark hair and light eyes; very pretty indeed, Sniper would’ve probably even went for her if, well, he was straight. She looked him up and down, and although you couldn’t see it, you could tell that she was rolling her eyes internally. 

“What’dya like?” 

Cheap whiskey was always his first choice, and places like this one seemed to be the capital of cheap whiskey. She handed it to him in a glass, chipped at the side and Sniper took it in his hand. He felt he drank it too fast, and was soon asking for another. He’d probably be in the same place as Demo if he hadn’t hated the way alcohol made him feel more than he liked it. At least he hadn’t been doing drugs. He had no aversion to heroin, good thing he stopped before it became a problem. God, how long ago was that? Ten years ago at least, if not fifteen. Had to be fifteen, he was still in his twenties then, wasn’t he? Getting old, he was. Old, in a fucked sort of love, shooting the same guys in the desert for the past couple of years. Another whiskey, please. 

* 

“S’cuse me, ma’am?” A couple hours must’ve passed. “What time is it?” 

“Nearing seven.” 

“Alright, thank ya.” He slid a small pile of bills across the counter before he stood up, supporting himself by holding on to it. He’d stopped the whiskey after three glasses but had a good couple of beers soon after. He felt tired. Seven o’clock was fine for him. He could sleep now and wake up really early tomorrow, maybe he’d go out somewhere no one else would be. The sharpshooter felt like he could vomit, except he had only eaten soup all that day and it just wouldn’t happen. He clumsily pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and shakily lit it as he leaned against the cold wall of the building. It made him remember the Spy, and the feeling from before returned. He’d have to get back to the bases tomorrow, he couldn’t do this any longer. It was time to apologise. A shiver of cold went down his spine as he leaned back up from the wall and extinguished the cigarette on the dusty ground before he headed toward his van. 

He got his keys out and opened the door, but then he figured that he’d go park the van somewhere else. He wasn’t so drunk as to not be able to drive two blocks, right? When he got into the driver’s seat, he heard something shuffle from the back of the van. Shuffles from behind him usually meant that a Spy was involved, but that wasn’t a possibility. He turned the key and turned down past one of the edges of town that just became desert again and parked a bit out behind some building. After having a piss in one of his jars (and missing half the way through), he came back into his van and shed his clothes on the floor before he got to climbing up into the bed. As he was turning around, he felt a hand around his neck coming from behind him. 

“ _BLOODY HELL!_ ” The Sniper stiffened as another hand came around his waist. “Spook?” 

“Oui.” 

“Y-you... pissing bastard.” 

“Shh, mon cher…” He gently pulled the Sniper around and stood up on his toes, peering into the marksman’s eyes “ _Je suis désolé. Je suis vraiment désolé..._ ” 

“Wot?” 

“I am very sorry, mon loup.” 

“Me too, Spook. Me too” Sniper glanced about nervously, but it wasn’t as quick as nervous glances usually tended to be. 

The Spy stretched up even further and put his arms around the Sniper’s neck. He pulled the other man down a bit as well before whispering “I love you, Lawrence.” The Sniper smelled like alcohol, and he hadn’t washed since yesterday, but the Spy didn’t mind as he kissed him, stubbly, slurry mess and all. He traced kisses down the his jaw, and soon the Spy’s shirt was being unbuttoned clumsily with Sniper’s shaking hands. 

[Uncensored](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8542726)

* 

They woke up in a tangle of sheets, Spy’s leg thrown over the Sniper’s. The two stared at the ceiling a bit before turning to acknowledge each other. 

“Good morning, Sniper.” 

The man in question wasn’t quite awake or in any state to give a proper answer beyond: “‘Elluh…” 

One would’ve thought that the two of them would wake up in glorious moods that morning from their previous night, but not much could be farther from the truth. 

“Sniper, we must get you washed up as soon as we can, you smell _disgusting_.” 

“Spook, couldya… couldya keep it down a bit…” They were getting older, and the Australian couldn’t handle his liquor as well as he used to. Besides, he didn’t smell _that_ bad. Two days worth of sweat and a night of liquor and sex? He’s been worse. 

“I suppose I must drive, but not before we can get you washed…” 

Sniper didn’t feel like responding, so he grunted and turned around as Spy sighed and climbed down the ladder. There was an old pump next to the inn they were parked behind, and Spy found a pail under one of the shelves in the van, so he went out and filled it with water after getting his trousers on, leaving the wrinkled, dusty shirt on the floor. After digging through the Sniper’s cabinets he found a straight razor and some soap, and surprisingly, a dirty mirror. He decided he’d clean himself up before even attempting to get Sniper out of bed and up and running, so he leaned the mirror against a shelf and set the soap down as he got to work. It had been a few days since he’d shaved and was glad to have done it; late was better than never. He pulled his balaclava on and considered his reflection, or at least as much of himself as he could see. He had always been thin and handsome with intelligent eyes, but it was different than it used to be, bags under his eyes from accumulated lack of sleep he’d never make up. His chest was bare from the collar down, untanned flesh contrasting with the deep blue of the mask, his suit pants and bare feet farther down his body. He wondered what the Sniper _really_ thought of him. He must consider him somewhat attractive at least, taking into account their amorous congress the night before. It didn’t make much of a difference anyway. He’d make sure the Sniper stayed. 

While his thoughts were on the subject, he glanced up at the loft of the van to see the base of the Sniper’s foot hanging down from the height, the marksman still fast asleep. Spy climber halfway up the ladder to decide upon some manner of awakening the Sniper, and ended up climbing up all the way and straddling the sleeping man’s hips, just to slap him in the face, not hard enough to hurt but surely hard enough to shock. 

“Arghh...fuck...Bugger off, Spook.” 

“Non.” 

“Ya wanker, _please_.” 

“Non. Get up. We will get you looking more… presentable, and then we will go get you something to eat. I will not let you lay in bed all day because of your irresponsible drinking the night before. Come on.” 

“Ya can’t tell me whatta do…” 

If asked later, Sniper wouldn’t be able to tell how he’d been pulled out of bed, but he soon found himself sitting on a chair in the middle of the small space, Spy behind him shaving him, cigarette hanging from his mouth, after he’d had a few buckets of water dumped on him and a piss in a jar. He was still stark naked, but today was considerable warmer than the previous few days so he didn’t mind as much. As soon as the Spy was finished, he finally brought himself to putting on some clean clothes, Spy also pulling a fresh shirt from his briefcase, and sat down before the wheel of his van, sighing. 

“Where to?” 

“Breakfast. And I was going to drive, non?” 

“Nobody gets to drive her but me, mate, no matter the state I’m in.” 

“Fair enough.” He lit a cigarette; he needed one. 

They drove down a few blocks and stopped by some little breakfast diner, old and in ill repair, but it was clean. 

Eggs and bacon and other grease-drenched foods were soon brought to their table by a plump little woman in her thirties who looked twenty years behind any current fashion, and the two men both stared down at their plates in dismay upon the sight of the food. The cheery smile melted off the waitress' face. 

“Somethin’ wrong, gentlemen?” 

“It’s fine,” the both of them said in tandem. 

The woman looked as though she was going to say something but decided against it, and tottered away. The thought of eating all of this made the Sniper’s stomach turn, and Spy certainly didn’t fancy this sort of thing, both of them much preferring a cigarette and a coffee to the traditional breakfast. Nonetheless, the two ate, mostly in silence, both leaving about a third of the content of their plates when Sniper left a twenty on the table before the two left. They stood outside the glass windows, both now with their cigarettes. They were turned a bit away from each other. 

“As I understand it, we keep going now, yeah?” 

This didn’t need confirmation, but the two turned to glance at each other and the Spy nodded. 

Sniper took a nervous glance around. There wasn’t very many people out on this Sunday morning, perhaps they were in church or whatever people did on Sundays before noon. When he confirmed that no one was watching, he grabbed the Spy’s hand and started to walk. 

This surprised the Spy, but after a second all he could do was smile to himself and follow his Sniper to the van. The weekend wasn't going to be too terrible after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8542726) is the porn if you missed it.


	7. Tu Es Parfait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy stuff, talking and kissing and Sniper acting like a flustered teenager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I am sorry it took me this long to update, I had no time on top of a writers block, but alas, here you go, a bit later than I would have liked, but still here. I think this will go on for two, maybe three or four more chapters, and then I am hoping to keep writing, of course. It's a bit short. I still don't speak French, so I apologise in advance for that, but otherwise I think that this is a decent chapter for anyone who just wants to read about cute old dudes, and I will be able to write a lot this week on account of not having school. Please leave any feedback and likes and dislikes in the comments. Suggestions for future fics would also be cool. Enjoy!

“How did ya even get here after I, er, left ya out there?” 

The two were again on the road, vast expanses of desert on either side of them. It had been a couple of hours since they left Tackettsville, and they hadn’t seen anything interesting so far so they kept driving. It wasn’t a problem; they were fine with just talking while peace between the two of them lasted. 

“You mustn’t take me as a complete idiot, Sniper. Remember that weird little gas station we’d passed? You said it looked like something from those 40s films or something?” 

Sniper nodded in acknowledgement, not taking his eyes off the road. 

“This boy was sitting there. Let me tell you, cher, he really reminded me of Scout. He had his pornography, the goofy over-confidence, and he liked to talk, but you could tell that he really _wasn’t_ as stupid as he seemed. He was bored, so he drove me.” 

“All the way?” 

“All the way. And you spent the whole afternoon drinking, yes.” 

“Yep…” 

“You mustn’t do that, you know.” 

“You don’t seem to care that Demoman is drinking his life away, or when Medic has a bit too much.” 

“First off, Demoman and Medic, whether on my team or yours, aren’t my lover, and second: they can handle it. Demoman is practically a professional when it comes to alcohol abuse, he can take care of himself. Medic may be a bit unstable when it comes to intoxication, but he is also always fine. I know you well, Bushman. In some ways I know you better than you know yourself–” At this, Sniper shot him a look, but the Spy continued. “It is my job, Mundy. Anyway, if you are upset and drunk, things may not go over too well. You are impulsive; I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

Sniper wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t. He knew Spy was right. He could mess things up pretty badly in his worse states. The Spy cared about him; he wanted him to be happy. He decided to come after him even when he left him in the desert. Right then the Sniper felt bad; not for what had happened the previous day, but as if he wasn’t a good enough lover, and whether he deserved the Spy. It confused him. He was usually level headed and pretty self-centered. He wouldn’t go out of his way to make things better for someone else out of the goodness of his heart, but the Spy? The Spy made him want to cross oceans and climb mountains to please, but he just allowed himself to rely on the Spy the whole time without giving anything back. 

“I’m sorry, Spook.” 

The Spy looked genuinely confused as to why the Sniper was apologising. “What for, mon amour?” 

“I’m-I’m not very good at this, am I? This whole love thing, yeah?” 

Another thing the Sniper could not explain how Spy did was how he managed to lean over from the passenger seat, pull the van over, and place his hand on his knee to push down on the brake in order to stop the vehicle with seemingly no effort and thought involved. He did all these things perfectly somehow remaining totally aloof in his actions in order to keep his focus on the situation at hand. 

With the hand still on the Sniper’s knee, the Spy pushed himself up to kiss the utterly bewildered Sniper, whose surprise you could see even with the aviators and the hat obscuring most expression that would otherwise be seen upon his face. 

“ _Vous ne savez pas combien je t'aime._ *” 

“Spook! You know that I have _no idea_ what you just said!” 

Spy took no notice to this and continued talking. “ _Je ne sais pas ce que je ferais sans toi.*_ ” He looked at the completely exasperated and confused Australian. “If I didn’t like it, I would leave, non? So, shut up, you absolute idiot. _Tu es parfait._ ” 

Sniper sat there, blank looking wide-eyed at the Spy. “Fuck, Spook.” 

“Fuck indeed.” 

“I love you, Spoi.” A car drove past them. 

“It is Fabien, cher.” There was a couple of seconds of silence between each fragment of speech. 

“Your _name?_ ” He wasn’t looking at the other man. 

“Yes, my name.” 

Sniper hesitated before he finally. glanced over at the Frenchman “I love you, Fabien.” 

“I love you too, Lawrence.” Another pause. _I really do love you too._

* 

There wasn’t much you could do in the desert, whether it was hot or cold, day or night. That didn’t matter to the Frenchman and the Australian, who pulled the former up onto the top of his van once they stopped for the night. 

Sniper agreed not to resolve to eating what he usually ate when he was just out in his van, which was whatever he managed to kill that day and some canned fruits and vegetables. They stopped by a town that was considerably bigger that their starting point and other previous stops and found a strange little restaurant that was open on that Sunday, run by a little old Mexican lady. She hardly spoke any English, but it was fine, because it didn’t stop them from getting some really good food for not much money. They thanked the woman before leaving and strolling around the sleepy little town for a bit, discussing this and that. 

Sniper told the Spy about the time he was in secondary school and he’d always get into trouble for starting fights, simply because he didn’t know how to talk to people who approached him. He didn’t particularly have a habit of pursuing friendships since he was fine pretending to be a cowboy and shooting cans off of a wooden fence at his parent’s house, but there was this one kid who he really wanted to get to know. Sniper described him as a “Sneaky little fuck, skinny thing, but really good looking. Really smart too. Must’ve known I had a thing for him, coz he took me in a broom closet and gave me a snog before telling me not to tell a soul, and then to fuck off. Was my first kiss, the bastard.” 

“Looks like your taste in men has not changed in all that time, old man.” 

“Look who yer calling old man, ye geezer! You and yer grey hair…” 

The Spy of course, did not take literal offense to this, but managed a jab at the Sniper’s ribs either way. 

“Never told my parents I was a poofter. Never plannin’ to, either…” 

Spy was fine with it. His parents were long gone, after all. He wasn’t going to force the Sniper to ruin his already unstable relationship with parents he still had. The two returned to the van, which Sniper had parked somewhere next to the fence of an abandoned ranch property. The sun had been going down, and the sky had gone a deep indigo colour. Sniper had pulled out a blanket and convinced the Spy to get up on top of the van with him. 

“Come on, Spook, please?” 

“Weren’t you always the one who was always complaining about the cold?” 

“It’s warmer today, you know that. Besides, I’ve got a blanket and you’ve got a jacket. Now get up here before I have to force you.” The threat was vague, but for some reason Spy could imagine being picked up and unceremoniously thrown upon Sniper’s shoulder and hauled atop the vehicle, so he obliged, reluctantly. 

“Now look.” 

It was the stars. They were like little shards of glass dust in the pool of darkness around them, away from anyone else. It was just them, the Sniper’s rifle, and the occasional howl of the coyote. Usually, the Spy felt nervous in the desert night, but he felt okay with Sniper holding him close and them looking up at the stars. It felt cliché, but it wasn’t as bad when it was the Sniper’s fault; when this shaggy, quiet fellow went out of his way to show the Spy what he knew to be absolutely mesmerising. They continued to talk, but things were winding down a bit, and stories were getting shorter. Spy could feel his eyes threatening to close, and he realised the Sniper was nodding in and out of consciousness as well. They didn’t need to take things any further tonight. It was perfect. They slowly but steadily climbed down from the camper roof, and again clothes were shed, kisses were exchanged, bodies close in warmth under sheets, but they were still and quiet. Nothing mattered to either of them except for the man next to the other. Spy wanted to stay awake, to take in this happiness and to listen to the Sniper’s breathing next to him, but it just couldn’t happen. It was too perfect, and soon the two of them were in deep sleep in the cramped little bed of the “bushman’s filthy van.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "You have no idea how much I love you."   
>  "I don't know what I would do without you."


	8. Mein Freund

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly about interaction with other teammates. Warning for drug abuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got this chapter done in less than a week. Not as early as I would have hoped, but perhaps I can get in another before next week. The next may or may not be the last, depending on how things go, I really dunno. I kind of liked writing about something else than just sex and angst and action-y stuff about the main ship (insert cliché doctor thing here [you'll see]), let me know if I should write more about the other mercs . I will probably write non-ship fics in the future, this just seemed like a good place to start. Enough about all that, though. I hope you have a lovely read and great Thanksgiving for all you American folks!

It was Monday evening. The two lovers had driven back that day, since ceasefire ended the next morning. 

“I will come to your van tonight, cher.” 

“Oi, maybe I should come to your room, considering you have spent so much time in it these past few days? Or have you taking a liking to my ‘filthy van?’” 

“Fine. I will leave the door on the far side open for you. Don’t be an imbecile and get yourself caught.” 

Sniper smiled to himself as he locked the van up. Before the two parted to go to their respective bases, they shyly turned back around to face each other. _When did Spook get so bashful?_ It didn’t matter, Sniper found it very cute. Despite having had learned his name the night before, Sniper still liked calling the Spy by his pet name. Real names were reserved for more – _profound_ moments. 

Even though they’d been together for a bit, it was evident that Sniper had no idea what he was doing in a relationship, while Spy was like a veteran in charming people into bed. That did not change the fact that the two of them needed time to feel comfortable around each other, since Sniper was plain awkward and Spy hadn’t been in many genuine relationships in which he really cared to be nervous about anything. This wasn’t always visible between the two of them, because from a superficial standpoint, the Spy was confident if a bit rude in his execution of romance and Sniper was just clumsy, but moments like these suggested otherwise. 

Spy was blushing. He lifted his hand to the Sniper’s cheek and glanced up, to see the Sniper looking everywhere _but_ him. His hands were awkwardly at his sides until he sighed, looked at the Spook and but his hands on the other man’s waist. Surprisingly, he was the first to speak. 

“Uh, that was really nice, Spook. Sorry, again, for, ye know…” 

“Of course, cher. I enjoyed myself as well, I hope we can do more of that in the future.” The two parted ways, not before a quick kiss goodbye, Spy cloaking and Sniper lighting a cigarette as they stalked in opposite directions. 

* 

“Oi, where have ye been, boyo!?” 

“Out, huntin’ and all that.” Sniper made eye contact with their Spy as he said this. There were a few people who knew where he really was. 

“You missed a whole lot a drinkin', lad.” 

“Did I?” 

“Most of it was consumed by Demoman himself, and Soldier and Scout.” Medic looked up from his chess game with Heavy. 

Sniper came to the conclusion that he truly didn’t miss much. It wasn’t unusual that the whole team got obscenely inebriated and all ended up waking up in a pile on the couch save for some of the more _disciplined_ members of the team. It wasn’t fun putting up with a drunk – and subsequently hungover – group of men, the majority of which was not entirely sane (and those of whom were of decent mental stability had some interesting personality traits that were not necessarily so interesting when amplified by the liquor). 

“Well, I’m back now.” 

The team acknowledged him and went back to whatever they were doing; Heavy and Medic with their chess game as Pyro watched, Spy and Engineer were hovering around the kitchen counter, tending to something in the oven, which left Soldier, Demo, and Scout at the table. The former two of the group were having a game of cards while Scout was hunched over a tattered notebook, making furious, decisive movements with a Ticonderoga pencil that had clearly been through a lot. When Scout was drawing, he was silent. He was really good at it too, and it seemed like the Spy didn’t want to believe it. Sniper figured it was probably from the comic books Scout still read as one of the many things that remained from his childhood and made him so _boyish_. 

He knew why the Scout acted the way he did. He supposed the others did too, but Sniper felt particularly connected to it, even though he grew up in an opposite situation. The Scout grew up without a father and seven older brothers. He never got any attention, and even though his family did care for him, he kind of had to learn to fend for himself. When he’d gotten to this new place with new people who might actually _pay attention to him_ , he did as much as he good to make sure he got it, even if it wasn’t positive attention. 

Sniper, on the other hand, grew up as an only child, smothered with his mother’s kisses and having all his flaws scrutinised under his traditionalist father’s watchful eye, and he was glad to be away from any attention he could avoid. Unless it was from the Spy. God, he’d only been away from the bastard a few minutes and he already wanted him in his arms again. Surely he’d be sick of him by tomorrow… 

He took up a seat next to the Scout and picked up the newspaper from Saturday. The county news wasn’t particularly interesting, but it was better than risking rousing Scout from his speechless concentration until dinner was ready. 

* 

The BLU Spy sighed as he silently slipped into his base’s common room. Apparently, today was one of those days where the team didn’t all have dinner together, but every man was on his own in finding something to satisfy himself for the night. It wasn’t difficult; they had more than enough in variety and quality in their foods (one of the few things Mann Co. had managed _not_ to totally mess up), but Spy just couldn’t be bothered. He took the lighter that was lying on the table next to the Pyro who hadn’t noticed him there yet, lit one of his Sobranies, and replaced the thing making a deliberate sound, which caused Pyro to start and look up the Spy, mumbling offendedly. 

“Why hello there, Spah.” The Engineer hadn’t noticed him either. “Haven’t seen you around in a few days, how’s it going?” It was clear that the Spy made the Texan nervous, but it had been getting better recently. 

“I am doing quite well, as I hope you are, gentlemen?” He gestured to the two men sitting before him. 

The Engineer nodded and Pyro mumbled something more, and the Spy decided to move on. He walked past the couch, where the Scout was leaned up against Heavy, who was fast asleep, as were Soldier and Demo, one’s legs atop the others. The two of them could always be arguing about one thing or another, but when it came down to it, they were the closest of friends two men could be without… 

God knows where their Sniper could've been. 

Upon confirming that there was nothing devious going on in the Medic’s office with him and Heavy, Spy decided to head over there and talk to the German for lack of anything better to do until lights out. 

He found the man with his hair in his face, looked extremely exhausted and frazzled. Most of the infirmary was in order, but the office was a mess. Spy knew what this was about. The BLU Medic had a bit of a problem with morphine. It could be better or worse at different times, but he must be on the down part of his cycle. The Medic didn’t notice his visitor at first, and was surprised to see the figure with smoke wafting around him leaning against one of the steel counters of the advanced infirmary. 

“Oh! Hello, mein freund!” The Medic had charm, that the Spy had to give him. But he was not a good actor, not in this state at least. He wasn’t very good at hiding the fact that he was doing less than well at the moment; maniacal laughter replaced by nervous, paranoid giggles. “How are you _doing?”_ He held onto his desk, steadying himself. No wonder Heavy wasn’t around, it wasn’t a pretty sight. 

“Sit down, Siegfried. I am well, unlike you. I had simply wanted to come and converse with yo– oh dear, it seems as though I’ve come at a bad time.” 

The man had begun to vomit upon the floor, the splash on the tiles causing a chill to run up the Spy’s spine. He had turned away but the Medic reached for him. 

“Don’t worry, mon ami, I am not going anywhere.” He knew the infirmary almost as well as the Medic, since he was trusted by the German and he had snooped around more than a couple of times. The doctor had copious amounts of painkillers around the office. “Aha.” The Spy grabbed the little bottle and brought it to the doctor. “If you are going to try to do this, do it when you have more time. You must fight tomorrow, and you know you need at least four days. You know this very well, too. Take this now, we will worry about it during the holidays.” He handed the man the bottle, rolled up his sleeves, and got to cleaning the mess up of the floor as the sweaty Medic sunk into the chair. 

“Danke, mein freund, I don’t know what to say…” He said after a few minutes. 

The Spy had resumed his position on the metal counter, a new cigarette already in his hand. “Don’t say anything. You have saved my ass many times, non? Get to sleep. I will talk to Heavy, and then we shall talk tomorrow. Rest now.” 

“Gute Nacht.” 

Spy shook his head as he shut the door. “Bon nuit, mon ami.” 

There was nothing to do now but inform Heavy on the state of his “Doktor” and go to his room and wait for the Sniper. They’d only been back – Spy glanced at his watch – forty minutes, and he wanted to see him again already. Strange. Surely he wouldn’t be aching to see him tomorrow. 

After he told the Russian about how he might consider taking care of his boyfriend, he turned down the hallway to the largest of all of the living quarters in the base. He opened the door found his room in order, and thought that he should perhaps take a shower while he waited. He hadn’t had a proper wash in a few days; it was time. _Merde, I hope he has the sense to bathe as well…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I add illustrations to my drawings?


	9. Je Ne Te Quitterai Jamais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, if a few days late. Don't ask why I write so much about showers. I used a couple popular headcannons here, if you don't mind. I am really sorry if there are inconsistencies and things, I tried, and am finally finished. Please leave comments and favourites if you liked, and soon there will be another fic. Love you all, thanks for reading.

The showers were dark when the BLU Spy got to them, and he didn’t bother turning the lights on. It wasn’t likely that anyone would walk in on him, but it was safer, and he felt more comfortable that way. It was rare that he had some solid time like this to himself, he was always hurrying in and out of his trusty balaclava and pinstriped suit, and he rarely had a chance to get a good look at himself, but this was the second time in two days that he stared back at himself in the mirror reflection like this. The light from the rest of the bathrooms shone into the shower where the steel-framed mirror hung as he removed his balaclava and his tie, unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his trousers and taking off his socks with the garters. The mirror in Sniper’s van was much smaller; here the Spy could see to his waist. He felt down his chest and his sides, turning around slowly. 

Oh. He forgot about that. 

A tattoo wound down his left shoulder down to his hip. He had dealings with the Japanese yakuza, and he became friendly with a certain Dairoku Ogawa, who’d gotten him drunk more than a couple of times in his short stay in Japan. Long story short, their communication consisted of some universal body language and a little broken French on Dairoku’s part, and besides a few healing stab wounds as souvenirs from the orient, Fabien left with two snakes winding down his back between blooming peonies. 

It suited him greatly, even years later. Sniper liked it when he’d lie on his stomach, letting him study the intricate design. It was as if he never tired of seeing the scales and petals that so gracefully decorated the man’s skin. Others on either team also had similar markings whether of ink or brands, but only his was so extravagant. The BLU Soldier had gone and gotten himself an anchor, and on the RED Pyro’s file it said that he had some strange symbols burned into his upper right arm and again on his shoulder. The RED Medic had a six-digit number on his arm. He had his Japanese irezumi, the snake going hand-in-hand with his association. 

The Spy finally got to the shower, the cold floor stinging his feet until the warm water began to rush over him. His hair fell onto his forehead when it got wet, and Spy told himself to remind himself to get a haircut soon. With the way this job was going, he could arguably just go bald, but he would miss Sniper stroking and touching, pulling his hair in bed. He lathered himself in soap until his skin stung a bit from dryness, and then left the comforting stream of water to towel off. He didn’t bother trying to get any clothes on save his mask and headed toward his bedroom through the dark hallway with nothing but a towel saving his decency. 

* 

Before most of the other members of the team were finished eating, Sniper left the dining room. Engie’s dinner was good, but he wasn’t very hungry, and it was getting late, so he left, coming through the hallway rather than exiting through the side door. He got to the washrooms, and found his locker the way he left it. He’d been with the Spy long enough to hear the angry French “filthy bushman!” echoing in his ears constantly, so he’d gotten used to bathing as often as he really should. It wasn’t really like he didn’t like washing and being clean, it was just that it was such a pain in the arse. He usually showered with most of the rest of the team after battle, and hardly a day passed by that someone didn’t comment on his lanky form, his hairy, well, _everything_ , or any of the weird scars here or there decorating his body. It just made him nervous. He wondered if since the rest of the mercs, who were obviously not supposed to be gaping at his naked body, saw these things, that Spy noticed even more of his flaws. He felt his face go hot at the thought, and without thinking stepped under the frigid shower water, which made him jump at first, but in the end decide not to bother turning the heat up very much. The Sniper’s thoughts wandered and he stood rather still under the cool stream, which had made him start shaking a bit at some point, so he finished abruptly before towelling off and getting on something to keep him warm on the walk over to the BLU base. It was still nine o’clock, so he’d go and wait a while in the common room or his van before he went anywhere, as so to keep from get caught by any other BLUs. 

When he found most of the team was still in the other room, he went through the far kitchen door and up a pile of crates stacked against the wall up to one of the lower portions of the building’s roof, where he’d often sit. There was even a jar and a couple of books up there that he forgot about, along with a pack of cigarettes, three remaining in the box. He couldn’t remember when and why he left these belongings up there, but he took a cigarette in hand and lit it while he leaned against one of the walls of the building, which was warm in comparison to the chilly fall air. It was a good time to think; to think about anything. About his mum and dad, about what if things went differently, about Spy. He felt a strange twinge when his thoughts once again turned to this man who was now the most important to him in his life. He had just seen him a couple of hours ago after a couple of days with him but _holy dooley_ he missed the bastard already. He grabbed the objects off the roof and carefully jumped down from the height, since this part wasn’t much taller than he was, and turned in the direction of the BLU base. 

The way the BLU base was set up was not identical to RED’s, but it was similar, and if you knew the general premise of either one, you could figure out the other. The door on the far side was opposite the direction RED’s base was. Sniper approached it and tried the handle, finding it unlocked, as promised. The hallway he entered led past more work-related rooms, the living quarters being farther down. A light shone from under one of the wooden doors, Sniper assumed it was the BLU Engineer’s workshop. The hallway then gave the option of turning right or going further forward, the former of the two leading toward the bedrooms and other accommodations. Just as he turned, the Sniper heard footsteps just as he ran in face first into the BLU Heavy. 

“What are _you_ doing here, leetle Sniper?” The big man knew about the BLU Spy and RED Sniper’s relationship. He wasn’t too surprised to see the man in his own base, although he’d never been there before. “Seeing Spy?” 

Sniper thought feeling such fear and such relief within such a short frame of time was surely unhealthy, and he had never been happier that it was the BLU Heavy standing in front of him as opposed to anyone else. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here to see Spook. You’re not going to tell anyone that I was here, solid?” 

“Da. Spy’s room is third right.” 

“Alright, thanks mate.” The third door on the right side of the hallway was open ajar, just ever so slightly, and Sniper pushed it gently as to not make any sound. 

“Love?” 

The Spy was sitting in a chair, one leg crossed over another, a royal blue silk bathrobe draping elegantly over his frame, a cigarette lazily hanging from his lips, and some sort of book laying closed on his lap. “Hello, mon amour.” 

The Australian pulled his hat off and sat down on a chair opposite the Spy’s. 

His smoking room was connected to his bedroom by a half wall, but it ended up a small passage because of bookshelves against the other wall. This room must have been some old storage room, considering the big warehouse windows shrouded with curtains, and a length of cement running down part of the floor, and the high ceiling besides all of that. Somehow Spy managed to make even this place luxurious, which was even more evident in the relaxed and stylish manner he held himself on the chair. 

“I rather do hope that you have considered washing yourself.” 

“Yeah yeah, Spook.” He considered the man before him, his lean body with the folds of sheen blue fabric drifting across it, and the pensive look on his face as he considered the Sniper as well. 

Seemingly simultaneously, the two lifted themselves off the chairs and were facing each other, blue eyes staring into blue. 

Despite having become much closer and more comfortable with the Spy over the past few days, Sniper felt the blush spreading across his cheeks, and he averted his gaze to the side, vision an unfocused view on the floor and the edge of Spy’s blue garment. He heard the soft sound of what he knew to be the Spy removing his mask, and he turned his head back after a few seconds. He hesitantly put his hands on the upper part of Spy’s arms. Because he was a good three or four inches taller than him, his mouth was right at the other man’s forehead, so he pressed his lips to the Spy’s pale skin, gently, his gaze still anywhere but the Spy when he pulled away. 

“You are still so shy, Mr. Mundy.” 

Sniper just grunted a bit in response. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to think of something to say. The Spy took the chance to kiss the Aussie, who’s eyes shot open for a second before he relaxed again and kissed back. It was like there was nothing else in the world save this man. His hands started to wander a bit and this all started to feel a little more natural. The Sniper took to pushing the robe off of one of the Spy’s shoulders and kissing his neck. He felt the Spy shudder, so he continued, knowing that to be a good sign. 

As the bushman’s movements became more decisive, Spy’s robe fell to the ground, and the Frenchman ended up pushing the Sniper back until he fell upon the chair. Spy followed onto his lap, continuing with more kisses on the Sniper’s lips. 

* 

[Uncensored](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8542726/chapters/20076730)

* 

The two men lay in the Spy’s bed, the sheets too soft on Sniper’s skin. He listened to the breathing of the other man slowing down, as did his own heart rate. 

“That was bloody brilliant, Fabien,” he whispered. “Hell, too good, even.” 

“You have no reason to try and flatter me after I’ve had sex with you.” 

“C’mere you…” He placed a lazy kiss at the edge of Spy’s mouth, holding him upon his chest. It was quiet, but they didn’t need to talk much. 

“Hey Spoi, you’ll stick around, won’t ya?” 

“What do you mean, cher?” 

“I mean that you won’t say ‘Oh well, you were a good shag but you aren’t that great otherwise, goodbye.’” 

The Frenchman got a strange sensation in his chest as he realised what the Sniper was saying. He felt a little bit hurt at the lack of trust he had, but he understood the man’s sentiments. As a matter of fact, he was wondering the same about the Sniper. He felt relief to know that they shared common dreads, which more or less ensured stability in their strange relationship. He moved away from his position on the Sniper’s chest to look at him in the dim light coming from the windows. 

“* _Je ne te quitterai jamais,_ ” he whispered. 

“I…still don’t speak French.” 

“You know very well what I’m trying to say.” 

Sniper frowned, and Spy pushed himself up to kiss the Sniper before he had a chance to argue. 

“You know you really are the worst cheeky bastard, right?” 

Spy chuckled as he lay his head back down. “I know, mon cher, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"I will never leave you."


End file.
